Proper 11B - God in a box

Today’s Old Testament reading sounds a little like a sitcom riff.  David says, “God, I’ll build you a house”, and God says, “No you won’t, I’ll build you a house”. At least that’s what it sounds like to our modern ears.

But there are some linguistic nuances here that make this a very important passage both to the Israelites and to us. The word house that’s used in this section of Samuel has several translations. The first use is what David’s talking about.  “God, I’ll build you an abode, a building.  I live in a building, and our understanding of where you are, the arc of the covenant has been in a measly tent.  No, you need a house.”

 God rebuffs this notion.  God says that God has been with the people through all of their travails, “I have been with you wherever you went”.  I will be with you wherever you go.  God is telling David that he doesn’t want a house, and certainly doesn’t need a house.

It’s a little odd that David thinks God wants a house? That God is going to have a front door, a bedroom, a sitting room, a place to make meals?  But it’s human nature, isn’t it, to want to put God in a box, to put God in a box of our making. We want to contain God, to make sure God’s with us, in our box. We humans have been doing that throughout history and throughout the world. Whether it’s the grand cathedrals in Europe, the thousands of pagoda temples in Burma, or church buildings in Oregon. We make grander and nicer boxes for God to reside.

We build houses of worship at best to honor God, and at worst to try to define the container within which the true God is kept. We compete with others based on our God-box. Their God-box is nicer, or larger, or has better whatever.  We try to contain or define God in spaces we understand and we construct.  Maybe it’s our way of grasping the unknowable.  In any case, God tells David that he does not need any kind of structure.  Does not need an honoring building. Will not be contained.  God will be with the people, wherever they are. Period. This was a novel idea for the Israelites, with their notion that God was contained in Ark, which they carried with them everywhere, during their 40 hear trip wandering in the desert, around Jericho, was captured by the Philistines, and its recapture by David was in part what caused David to dance with all his might, that we heard about last week.
Enter the second definition of Hebrew word house that’s used in today’s Old Testament reading.  The other meaning of house is like a dynasty, the group of descendants of a person. Think the Ming Dynasty.  In this sense, house doesn’t mean David’s residence, but rather his descendants.

So let’s go back to the dialogue. David says, I’ll build you a house. God says, no, I’ll build you a house. Here’s what it really means. David says, “I’ll build you a residence, a container, or a spectacular place where we can come worship you” and God says, No, I’ll give you a dynasty and lineage.”

Not only does God not want an abode, as David envisioned, but God is willing to enter David’s messy world of humanity and descendants.  This, plus the comment that God has always been with the Israelite people is God telling David and the Israelites that God is willing to be with us.  Wherever. Whenever.  David’s lineage, his dynasty or the story of his heirs, is a very human, very messy story.  It’s our story.  God is with us in our story.  We understand this further from God sending his son to be with us as a human.  But in David’s time, this was novel indeed.

So although it’s brief and doesn’t sound like much on first hearing, this is an important passage because it attempts to dissuade us of the two notions: God neither 1) wants large monuments or structures, or 2) that God can be contained.  God also tells us that God will be with us, in the human muck of our lives. Willingly.  And always.

Fast forward a few thousand years, and we hear Mark’s stories about Jesus.  Today’s reading takes place after the disciples have been sent out for the first time, and are now returning to their teacher to tell him of their successes, challenges, failures.  They’re telling him about their first days out in the world.

Jesus’ response is tender and one we all need to hear.  The Gospel tells us that the disciples were so busy, they didn’t have time to eat. That sounds familiar to my world sometimes. In response to them telling him about their day, Jesus says, come away and rest.  Just reading that response of Jesus makes me breath a sigh of relief.  Isn’t that a lovely notion?  Come away and rest?

But alas, it was not to be. As they were crossing over the sea by boat to the deserted place to rest, the crowds recognized Jesus, and ran on foot and met the boat on the other side. So their deserted place wasn’t deserted.  And their restful retreat wasn’t restful. Jesus looked with pity on the crowds gathered to meet the boat, which looked like lost sheep without a shepherd. In response, he shepherded.

Hearing this response to the offer to come away and rest, I feel tired for them, or maybe tired for me. They are offered rest, but it doesn’t come.  Instead, they are met with lost sheep and must respond.
After they’re done teaching, they return to the boat. Again, Jesus is recognized and the crowds meet the boat on the other side and “people rush about, bringing the sick to the marketplace”.  Again, no rest. I’m getting tired just thinking about this.


Today’s lectionary reading skips some choice actions of Jesus and the disciples that make the lack of rest even more exhausting. What we miss, in chapter 6, verses 35 to 52 is nothing less than the miracle of the feeding of the 5000.  Feeding 5000 with sufficient resources would be exhausting.  The challenge of living into the miracle of feeding 5000 through faith sounds exhausting and daunting. This choice section is skipped between the two times the wearied disciples are met on shore by needy people.

All of this activity comes after Jesus’ invitation to “come away and rest”.


What are we to make of this thwarted invitation, of the elusive rest?

First, given my visceral reaction to the offer to “come away and rest”, I think we need to offer that rest and retreat to each other.  Come away and rest. It sounds trite, but a simple invitation for a retreat can feel like a drink of clear cool water.  An evening walk.  A moment of sitting before a meal or before bed.  If you see someone who is so busy they don’t have time even to eat, make the invitation and make it real.

Second, I think this story tells us a lot about human need.  Despite Jesus’ understanding that the disciples needed a rest, the human need was too great. They were pressed into service, into teaching and into healing. And in the part we skipped today, into feeding.


Finally, I’d suggest that maybe they had a respite after all.  When I am most stressed and busy, sometimes what I really need is a good bit of service to others. I’ve heard this sentiment from volunteers who read to kids, knit hats for children, or cook meals for Rahab’s Sisters. Service can provide that respite, even though it’s still doing something. Making 500 cups of coffee on a Saturday morning might my feet tired, but through being of service to another person in need, my soul is indeed refreshed.

It’s odd and definitely counter-intuitive to think that respite comes from service.  I think it works that way because of what we learned in the Old Testament reading.  God is present in our humanity. God is at the Mission, God is with the people who are helped by Heifer International.  God is at Rahab’s Sisters, or at the Community Breakfast.  God is here in this place. God is with us everywhere.  And because we are knee-deep in our messy human lives, offering service to others sometimes lets us see God, lets us see the face of Christ in those we serve.


Last week, at the community breakfast, I was talking with a regular guest, Jeff.  He is 58 years old, has long straggly brown hair, hazel eyes, a gentle soul and battles a heroin addiction, which keeps him on the streets. I found myself telling another volunteer that he looked like Jesus. Then it struck me. He looked like Jesus Christ.  He looked like Christ, because God is present in that human messiness. He is the Christ we seek to serve in others.  

God is present in the House of Court.  The House of Barbara.   The House of David.  If you are experiencing the difficulties that happen to all of us who are human, God is there.  God is willingly and constantly there. And although human need is sometimes too great to sit and rest, sometimes respite comes in the service to others. Because God is there too.

It’s a good thing we can’t put God in a box.  

My second sermon

Proper 7B

June 21, 2015

I had a whole sermon written.  It talked about David and Goliath, about David’s faith, and Saul’s fear. All the build-up in that story.  The 31 verses dedicated to how scared the people were, and how hard the fight was going to be.  About the one verse, where David takes out Goliath with simply a small stone, and large faith. I was going to talk about Jesus calming the seas, and the disciples' fear, doubt and faith.  About Jesus asleep at the back of the boat. But present the whole time.   

And then Thursday morning, I awoke to stories of the attack at Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, where nine people were gunned down during their prayer service.  In their house of worship. Because they were African American.

Most of the day Thursday, I had the deep honor to organize the prayer vigil that was held Thursday night downtown. Our vigil, thousands of miles away in a different place and context, could seem like a powerless statement.  But rather, it was incredibly meaningful and right. What we did that night can be a model for what we do as a community moving forward, providing some direction when we otherwise don’t know what to do and don’t know how to start. 

While we cannot know of the horrors and tragedy to the victims and their families, we too are grieved. It was a Christian church service, like this is.  That makes it a little more personal.  Being a Christian is dangerous. Being welcoming to all makes us vulnerable.  And we are called to do it. This is perhaps what persecuted Christians have known throughout time and throughout the world today. It’s dangerous business, being welcoming and loving to all.  We should take the opportunity to bolster each other up in the hard work of being loving, welcoming, vulnerable. Share your faith with other believers. Share tears and fears.  And stand with them when the very act of being a Christian believer makes life hard. 

We can also see the pain and trouble in our African American friends here. We are all beloved children of God, and it makes no sense that there is violence against some, solely because of the color of their skin. Eric Richardson, local director of the NAACP was troubled by the events in Charleston, of course.  In addition to the tragedy itself, he had another thing to grieve. When he told his school-age kids of the tragedy, his son shrugged his shoulders, expressing an apathy and resigned acceptance that was heartbreaking for his dad. What have we become, that this targeted violence has become so normalized that it result in shrugged shoulders? Being a parent, it was heartbreaking for me too.  We never want to see our kids experience or encounter the dark side of life. 

The next day, I was talking to my daughter. She said she was afraid that someone was going to try to hurt her, because she’s African American. People might target her because of her skin.  That’s tough to hear as a parent.  What’s tougher is not being able to dismiss her fears, or explain it, or do much of anything.  Except sit with her. 

This is not about THEM.  It’s about US.  Our lives. Our friends. Our family.  

So what can we do?  

As a people of faith, we can cry to God, and pray. Like the disciples in the boat with sleeping Jesus, we can feel terror. We can feel abandoned.  And God is with us.  We need to call out, and ask God to calm our storm.  To give us peace. 

We can pray for the peace and grace shown by the family members of victims of the shooting. Several families went to the bond hearing for the shooter, and expressed words of forgiveness.  You have hurt me deeply. And I forgive you.  I have no room for hate.  Grace and love like that are from God. 

Finally, we can take a stand and take steps towards saying that this cannot, should not and will not happen in our community.  

This is hard, because Oregon, Eugene and St. Thomas are predominately white, and there is a pervasive misbelief held by whites that makes progress hard.

We tend to believe two important falsehoods.  First, there are only a few racist individuals in society, like the shooter, and they are bad, very bad. Second, we believe that racism is a conscious dislike.  Since I’m neither really bad, nor consciously disliking, any conversations about racism cannot be me.   

Rather, we need to talk about and think about racism as the set of beliefs and practices that are so insidious and invisible that we cannot see them. Things that over time result in a higher incarceration rate of African Americans, resulted in the prohibition that African Americans could not own property in Eugene until the mid 1960s.  We in the dominate culture are part of the system that lets that happen. That result in shootings, and police racial bias.  Unless I am constantly working to fix this, challenging every joke, policy, belief, I am racist.  We all are.  

The hard thing is that with the two fallacies – racists are uncommon and bad, and racism is a conscious dislike – the universal response from whites when discussing racism is something like “How dare you suggest I’m a racist, or that I’ve done anything racist”.   I apologize if this is where you’ve landed this morning, and I want to reiterate that this isn’t about you personally. Racists aren’t infrequent, bad or intentional.  And we need to begin to get over our sensitivity to the topic and our defensiveness.  Because our African American brothers and sisters need us at the table. Need our voice.  We need to begin a conversation about race in this community and in this church.  

All of this talk about race and shootings might leave you wondering where the Good News is.  

Jesus is in our boat.  Jesus will calm our seas, and give us peace. We need to ask. We need to ask for ourselves, for our community, for the victims and their families, and for the shooter.  

Churches around the country today were asked to pray the Prayer attributed to St. Francis.  In concluding, I would ask you to join me in reading this prayer, on page 833 of the red Book of Common Prayer. 


Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light;  Where there is sadness, joy.

Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. 
Amen.

Easter 7B, May 17, 2015

Easter 7B
Today we hear the story of the replacement of Judas as the twelfth apostle. This story takes place immediately after Jesus’ ascension, which we celebrated Thursday night. 

By way of a brief diversion, a little bit about Ascension, for those who didn’t make it. It’s included in the Nicene Creed which we pray weekly. He ascended into heaven. It is one of the major feast days of the church year. 

So the question is why? Why is it a major feast day, and why do we talk about it weekly?   

It was explained to me this way. Through Jesus’ presence and involvement on Earth, the divine was brought us. We have the opportunity to see and experience the divine in this mortal world. In a rather simplistic analogy, but also one that worked for me, through Jesus, God rode the down escalator, to share divinity with us, here on earth. 

Continuing with the analogy, Ascension is the up elevator. Ascension is when Christ takes our humanity back to God. Having fully experienced humanity’s best and worst, our love and tears, our sadness, our spite, and meanness, Christ returns to God with that first-hand human experience. Through Ascension, God who created the heavens and is eternal has experienced our finite earthly lives. 

Today’s story of the replacement of the twelfth disciple occurs after Christ has ascended to the father. 

Like the other first readings during Easter, today’s reading is from the book of Acts, rather than from the Old Testament. During the Easter season, we catch a glimpse of what the world was like for those first people who were xthat first church. 

The eleven remaining disciples are waiting, unsure what to do, but waiting. Their first order of business is to replace the twelfth disciple. After prayer and consideration of the possibilities, there were two men left for the job, Joseph called Barsabbas, and Matthias. 

As a decision maker, bureaucrat, and planner, I imagine how we would make this decision in modern times. We’d build spread sheets. We’d review resumes. We’d check references. We might check their Facebook page, build lists of pros and cons. Hire a head hunter. We might hold a convention and a complicated election process.  

But that’s not what they did. To make this major decision, they prayed and then cast lots, an entirely random game of chance, similar to flipping a coin. 

On its surface, this flies in the face of everything I professionally know about good planning and decision making. And yet, here it is. They cast lots. 

This reminds me of a lesson I learned in grad school, about the value or accuracy or purpose of a decision making tool or process. I clearly remember the opening of one journal article about decision making. It talked about an ancient tribe that made decisions by consulting the shaman who would take chicken bones and put them in the sun. His decision was based on the way the chicken bones cracked. If they cracked this way, do this. They cracked another way, do that. We smart grad students thought this was absurd. Who could predict the future based on chicken bones?

But as the article continued, it became clear that the author was likening our tools and methods to the chicken bones. Our ways may have changed and gotten more complicated, but the certitude of the outcome had not. We, with our fancy spreadsheets, and analysis could not KNOW whether one path is ultimately going to be better than another. We might be able to reduce certain risks, or increase the chance of a better result, but it was ultimately a game of chance. 

If the decision about the disciple vacancy were made today, we’d rely, or try to rely on our human ingenuity to make a good decision. But as much as we’d like to make decisions that are the best for the future, we cannot know which option is best. We cannot know for certain if this candidate or that candidate will serve us better. If voting for an initiative or not will be better for me individually or for us collectively. We contrive complicated decision making tools, and conduct predictive analysis, and in the end, we still don’t KNOW. What we do dknow is that our best thinking, predictions and convincing went into the outcome. We gave it our best effort. 

But anyone who’s struggled with unexpected loss, or a bad turn of events knows, our best efforts do not protect us from a bad outcome. Bad things do happen, regardless of our best efforts. It’s not caused by or the result of our efforts. You can do everything right, and marriages fail, children are hurt, jobs collapse. It’s not you, or the decisions or plans you made.   

While casting lots may seem like a reckless decision making tool, it accomplished something important for the apostles, and would for us too. Casting lots, or flipping a coin or eenie meenie strips away all pretense that we are in control, or that we can plan, analyze, or worry our way to a clearer, safer future. And in our hearts, we know we are not in control of much, least of all the future. 

But here’s the thing, with God, we don’t need to be in control. God is already in our future, whichever future happens. And God is with us today, and can see a much bigger picture of our current and future than we can begin to imagine. For us to presume to predict or analyze or decide about that future is like the fish that doesn’t know it’s in water, because water is all it knows.
We only know what our human blinders and experience allow us to know. God is not constrained by time or space or place. 

That’s the second thing I take from this reading. When we invoke God and invite him into our decisions and our future, God is there. And whatever happens, God will be there. Not my will but thy will be done. We need to have faith that thy will be done. 

In the selection of Matthias, the apostles’ prayer wasn’t complicated or lengthy. “Lord you know everyone’s heart. Show us which one of these two you have chosen”. That’s a novel decision making process. Do a little work like the disciples did to narrow it down, pray and invite God in, and then decide. Decide with your spreadsheets, or resumes, or cast lots. It does not matter, and you cannot indemnify or protect yourself from the future, just by worrying about the choices you make today, so don’t. 

Do we have the faith to trust that God will be with us regardless of the outcome, regardless of the decisions made by our kids, by our elections, by us? If so, we don’t need to worry quite so much, and we certainly don’t need to stress about how the decision is made, even if it’s a random game of chance. 

While decision by chance may seem archaic, it is still used in some orthodox traditions. When I was in Seattle, my church shared its space with a Greek Orthodox mission. After being with us for 7 years, they moved to another site, and they needed to pick a name for their new church. They talked about many options, and in the end, they put the names on slips of paper, and pulled one out of a hat to decide. Their reasoning was that it was in God’s hands, not theirs, and God would make it right. 

I’m not suggesting that Holy Apostles Greek Orthodox Church or Mathias were hand picked by God through the random chance of casting lots. I do believe God could do that. But by invoking God into decisions and into your future, God is present, working through you and your world, regardless of  decision We can have that faith because God knows our hearts, knows our past and future, and because we have a great advocate in Jesus. The Gospel reading today is part of Jesus’ farewell discourse. The  apostles overhear him praying to God. They hear Jesus, their great Lord and teacher, praying to God to protect them, as they are sent into the world. To protect us as we are sent out into the world. 

We are not protected by being sheltered or removed from the world. On the contrary,  we are squarely in this world. Not only in it, but sent even further out in it. Out into a world with danger, and risks, decisions and chance, and the Evil One. And God is with us today, tomorrow and next year. Out in the world. 

As always happens, much has happened this week that relates to this morning’s readings.  

This week, there was a second devastating earthquake in Nepal. When the ground can unexpectedly shake and kill thousands of people, and weeks later, the same thing happens again, why do we presume to try to make good predictive decisions about our future? Regardless of what happens, here or in Nepal, God is there. We cannot know our little future, or the world’s. We are not removed from the world, but expected to go out in it. Go boldly. God is already there, regardless of which path you take to get there, or how you decide which path to take, or the if the destination isn’t all you dreamed it would be.

This week, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev was sentenced to death for his part in the bombing at the Boston Marathon. From a Gospel perspective, I am not sure what this death will accomplish. There were lots of people involved and affected in this tragedy. The brothers and their plans. The runner victims, who’d trained and worked hard to get to the point of running 26 miles. The spectator victims, who were at the wrong place at the wrong time. The judges and jury who deliberated and decided the life or death fate of the teenager suspect. It’s hard to sort through all of the people, their motives and if they deserve what they got. The runners and suspect, who trained perfectly and had their future planned. The spectators who arbitrarily stood in the wrong spot. 

It’s made even harder because this story is wrapped in two very sensitive politically charged topics, terrorism and the death penalty. It’s easy to have strong opinions about this tragedy, with very different perspectives. It’s easy to believe we can see clearly enough to render an accurate picture of right and wrong. Honestly talk and listen to your brothers and sisters in Christ who see this differently, and you discover one of two things. Either you’re right, and they’re stupid, or maybe this isn’t as clear as you thought. 

What we know from Jesus’ prayer is that God is present and protecting and loving in the midst of all of this. God is present with the victims and their families. God is protecting the judges and jury. God is loving Tsarnaev. 

God is present, protecting, and loving us, as we make our way into the world. And this protection and presence should give us peace. 

So, Go in Peace, to love and serve the Lord. 
Amen. 

Be Known to Us in Breaking Bread - Easter 3B April 19, 2015

Today, we continue in our 50 day Easter celebration with stories of the very newly risen Christ, and how the disciples understood their world and their faith in light of a Christ who was crucified, died, buried and resurrected.

The Gospel of Luke starts in the midst the dramatic first day after Jesus’ resurrection. Here’s what’s happened just before we pick up today’s reading.

The women go to the tomb, don’t find Jesus and instead find two men in lightning white clothes, who tell them Jesus has risen.  They return to the other disciples, who don’t believe them. To see for himself, Peter runs back to the tomb, finds it empty, and wonders what’s happened.

So as of now in Luke’s account, no one has seen the risen Christ. The apostles in Jerusalem don’t yet know, hadn’t seen, and couldn’t yet believe in the risen Christ.

That same day, two of the other disciples were traveling to Emmaus. Jesus appears to them, but they don’t recognize him. They invite him back to stay with them, still not recognizing him. It isn’t until later that first day, when Jesus took bread and gave thanks, that then – only then – do they recognize him as Jesus.  So those disciples, not part of the 11, quickly return to Jerusalem, to share what they’d seen, who they’d met, and how they’d come understood.

Still reeling from Mary’s claim of the risen Lord, Peter’s testament that the tomb was indeed empty, and now hearing of another incident of the risen Lord, Jesus appears in their midst.

The Eleven recognized him as Jesus but thought they were seeing a ghost.

No, Jesus assures them, look at my hands and feet. Look at my flesh and bones.

Then, further demonstrating he’s human, Jesus asks if they have anything to eat. Still in disbelief, they share broiled fish and once again share a meal with Jesus. Just three nights earlier they’d shared a meal with Jesus, what they’d since come to believe would be their last. And now, here they were again.  Everything was back to normal. But nothing was normal.

It’s after they shared the meal, the Gospel tells us, that their minds were opened to the meaning of the Scriptures.

What is the Gospel in this story? What is the Good News?

One thing we know from this story is that Jesus returns with pierced hands and feet. Clearly, the wounds could have been healed; Jesus has been raised from the dead. So the fact that the wounds are present and that he pointed them out to the disciples must be important. Christ renews and restores us, and yet he comes back with wounds and scars.  Maybe those lingering wounds are to tell us something about this renewed and restored life we’re promised. Christ is scarred and wounded at the hands of those he loved and served.  Maybe the lingering wounds of Christ tell us that the wounds may happen, can’t be undone, but don’t define or limit us.

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan Priest talks about the difference between pain and suffering.  He says pain is something that happens in this world.  We are pained, and we can’t necessarily avoid it.  But he says, suffering is something over which we have some more control.  Suffering is what we go through because of the pain.  It’s the replaying of hurts, the holding-on of grudges. Some suffering will always accompany pain. And some we perpetuate by holding on long after the scars are set.

The risen Christ suffered and was in pain.  The scars are proof of that.  And risen, there’s proof of the pain that occurred.  And even with what he went through, the suffering is gone.

It is unlikely that we will make it through this life able to avoid all pain and suffering.  And yet, scars and all, we too will be renewed, restored and forgiven.

The other thing I find striking is that Jesus and the Word are initially unrecognizable.  Mary at the tomb didn’t recognize him until he called her name.  The men on the road to Emmaus didn’t recognize him until he broke bread with them.  The apostles had closed minds until he shared a meal and gave thanks and then their minds were opened.

These people knew him when he was on earth and they didn’t recognize him or understand.  Clearly the risen Christ wasn’t exactly the same as the Jesus they’d known; something was very new and very different.  Maybe at that at this point in his time on earth, Jesus who was fully human and fully divine, after his death and resurrection, maybe he was appearing to others on the divine side of that spectrum. Maybe they couldn’t recognize him because what they were experiencing was so far from their understanding or experience as humans, or of humans. What he was doing, rising from the dead, and appearing in the midst of a gathering, was so divine, they couldn’t clearly it. It’s only through very human interactional activities that Jesus is recognized.  He calls Mary’s name. He shares a meal, and gives thanks. It’s when he again interacts with his disciples in human, relational ways, that they see and understand.

Be known to us in breaking bread, and do not then depart. Savior abide with us and spread, thy table in our heart. If these words sound vaguely familiar, they should. We just sung them.
Be known to us in breaking bread. One of the fundamental ways we recognize Jesus is through very human interactions with very ordinary things in very ordinary settings.

As Christians with a sacramental theology, we believe that through the Eucharist and Baptism, /through sharing bread, and wine and water, that we will surely and certainly experience God’s grace.  Surely and certainly.  And while those sacraments are a sure and certain way, they are not the only way. That is not the only place we experience God’s grace, where we meet Christ. We will also meet Christ through those other human contacts in the world. It is through and with other people that we will recognize Christ and understand the Word.  In order to seek and serve Christ in all people, we must start by interacting with them!

In these stories and in our faith, Christ is recognized through bread, water, wine, the calling of a name, the sharing of a meal.  None of these things are hard, or beyond us. We don’t need special equipment or experience.

To recognize Jesus in our world, we need to share a meal. Enjoy the fellowship, and the breaking of bread. We need to listen when our name is called.  Sometimes, it’s an outside voice. Someone calling your name who needs your help. And sometimes it’s an inside voice, where God is calling you to do something. Listen. When I listen and respond, I can recognize Christ. Not every time, but I think that has more to do with me not listening, than with Christ being absent.

If we don’t engage, love and serve others, we risk missing Jesus in our midst or we don’t truly understand the scriptures, just like the disciples in today’s reading. It’s often through the interactions with others that we experience the redemptive power of Christ.

We need to get our hands dirty, to listen when our name is called, to break bread. This is not pain-free or without personal risk.  And it is what we are called to do.

The reading from First John says that we are children of God.  Today. Right now. And while being a child of God is a good thing, the promise of that reading is even better. It continues to say that what we will be has not yet been revealed. We don’t know what we will be. But what we do know is that when Christ is revealed, we will be like Christ.

So if you put it all together, today’s Good News goes something like this.  We may not inherently recognize or understand Christ on earth any better than the disciples did that first day. Christ reveals himself to us in basic things and simple experiences we can understand. Through bread, wine and water.  When someone calls our name, or asks for food, or when we share a meal.

And when Christ is revealed in that exchange, when we recognize Christ in that bread, wine, service or response to others, we begin to become what we were always designed to be – more Christ like.  We will be love. We will have the ability to love Judas, to wash Peter’s feet.
This is not to say we will be unscathed. Resurrected Jesus had wounds.  But through our connection with the risen Christ, we gain unconditional-love-in-action that overflows without regard to the impact to us or the worthiness of others.

Carroll Simcox, Episcopal Priest and theologian said,  "We think of ourselves now as human beings. We really aren't that - not yet. We are human becomings. If you are living in Christ, believing in him and trying to follow and obey him as the master of your life, you are by his grace, becoming ever more and more like him."

Be known to us in breaking bread, and do not then depart. Savior abide with us and spread thy table in our heart. Amen.

Because I have washed your feet

Tonight we  celebrate Jesus’ last night with his disciples, and it’s so packed with intense emotions, that it’s hard to take it all in without putting yourself in that situation.  And since none of us can really put ourselves in that situation,  I’ll share a story about a situation for me that was close.  If it’s helpful to put yourself in the situation, great. If not, think of a situation that’s meaningful for you. A story that has closeness, adversity, community, betrayal. The point of a story is to put us in the place where we can not only sympathize or feel bad for or about the situation, but empathize, and feel like they feel.

About 15 years ago, I was working as the assistant city manager of a suburban Seattle City.  The manager was an old, grizzled, no-nonsense Oklahoman, with a very direct and clear communication style.  He supported his staff, and was well loved by the City Council.  Until..   At some point, the council wanted him to be softer, gentler, kinder. To make a long story short, they decided to fire him and after much gnashing of teeth, the City Council scheduled the meeting where they planned to vote to fire him.

Of the 8 department directors, 4 of us supported him, while the other 4 had helped mount the mutiny that resulted in a divided community, divided staff and divided council.  So that fateful night, the four of us sat vigil with him as the council deliberated in private.  We all knew the outcome. We sat with our leader who knew his time was ending. It was an uncomfortable, hard evening, full of bitterness, thoughts of betrayal, and sadness, and a few smiles.  In the end, they fired him effective that night, and I left the city a few days later.

The air was charged with strong polar feelings and emotions.  Anger at the staff who’d started this. Sadness that our team had fractured. Gratitude for the opportunity to spend the last night with him.  It was so overwhelming that some of us supporters left in the middle of the evening, unable to sit with all of that raw emotion.

This feels like it might be similar to the feelings and emotions that night in that room with Jesus.

There are conflicting emotions and sentiment, equally strong at their best, and their worst.

All of the readings so far have a sense of promise and hope. The Gospel contains some incredibly tender, compassionate words.  Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.  You can almost see the mournful look in Jesus’ eye as he looks at his disciples, knowing what was unfolding with them as individuals – with Judas who would betray him, Peter who would deny him, all of them who deserted him.  He also knew this was the end of their collective life together.  This was the end. And he knew it.

Knowing all of that, knowing that this was the end, he broke bread with them. He spent his last night with this group, loving them where they were. Not trying to change the course of the evening, or of their individual stories.  He was willing to love, without strings or expectations.  He shared a holy meal with them, and loved them to the end.

But in the middle of the meal, he stopped, got up, and washed their feet. If you think it’s awkward in 21st century Oregon, it was awkward then too. It is true that foot washing was a normal thing back then. Streets were full of dirt and sewage, and their sandals offered little protection. Routinely, a slave would wash the feet of guests who came in for a meal. It was a sign of hospitality, as well as hygiene.  But it was a very classist thing to do. The lower class people did it for those of higher stature. The slaves for the master.

And no one did it this night.  None of the other disciples would stoop so low as to show they were lower than the other disciples, even in order to wash their Lord’s feet.  So instead, Jesus showed them servant leadership. He got up from the meal, and washed their feet. They protested, similar to how we will protest.  No don’t do that. It’s gross.

You’ll never wash my feet, cried Peter. But once Jesus explained that the disciple’s feet needed to be washed to be a part of him, Peter was in.  Wash all of me, he said.

But here’s the thing.  Not only did Jesus wash their feet to serve them, Jesus washed their feet to model for them what service was really supposed to be.  I can imagine their incredulous faces, as he -  their lord and teacher washed their feet.  He quickly turned this loving act of service for his disciples into a commandment to his disciples.  By this time, it might be expected that Jesus would serve.  He’d been doing that throughout his ministry.  But that’s not enough. No, Jesus expected them to do the same.  Because I your lord and teacher have washed your feet, you now should wash each other’s feet.

That is the moment, I believe where the disciples saw and felt what Jesus was trying to tell them all along. Your job now, is to stop enjoying your meal, get up from the table and wash the feet of those around you. Regardless of your comfort, the tastiness of the meal, or the lowliness of those you’re washing.  Regardless even whether they are good to you – Because remember, Jesus washed their feet knowing the betrayal of Judas, the denial of Peter and abandonment from them all that was coming.  It’s not my job any more. It’s yours.

On this incredibly charged, difficult night, this moment is when I believe Jesus showed them what love your neighbor really looks like. How it’s awkward, and maybe not invited, and not tidy. And doesn’t follow social norms or society’s expectations about who deserves it. This is one of my favorite verses from the bible indelibly marked on my soul.

After this awkward, loving, human example in deeds  of loving each other, Jesus clarifies the new mandate with words. You should love each other as I have loved you. If you do this, people will know you are my disciples.

And at this point in the evening, the disciples couldn’t feign ignorance about what that love is to look like. They’d seen love in action.  And they couldn’t feign ignorance about what it felt like, or how to make it real.  Jesus showed them. They felt it.  Jesus was love in action to the disciples. He’d shared his final meal with them.  He’d washed their feet.  Love in action.

On this night 2000 years ago, after the dinner and after the foot washing, Jesus’ story changes drastically, with the darkness of betrayal, capture, humiliation, torture, murder shortly to come.  We mirror that in tonight’s liturgy.  Soon after our celebration of the Eucharist, everything - the service, our words and actions take a very different tone. We strip the alter. We read very somber psalms. And like Jesus’ disciples on that night, we flee the scene in silence.  Today is the first day of a three-day service, a single service that spans Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil.

Tomorrow, the second part of the service, has no beginning or ending. For Good Friday, we’ll gather in silence, and leave just as abruptly as tonight. Tomorrow, we celebrate Jesus’ death. And finally on Saturday night, we gather around the new fire, light the paschal candle, and after retelling the salvation story, finally get to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection.  In a few weeks, we’ll finish that three part celebration, of Jesus death, resurrection and ascension.  For now, we celebrate the death and resurrection.

Tonight, we prepare and we get tools to help get us through.
It’s a lot to take in. Thinking about celebrating death, resurrection and ascension. As a culture, we don’t like death very much. Certainly it is a bittersweet celebration at best.  But as Christians, we are to celebrate death, starting tomorrow.  Not with streamers and candles, but in a deeply meaningful way. It is a celebration.

Saturday night is the first celebration of the resurrection, connected powerfully to today and tomorrow. The resurrection is easier for us to celebrate. He lives.  Then we spend 50 days celebrating the resurrection, with a full 50 days of Easter to break out the candles and chocolates.  After that, when we don’t think we can take any more Easter celebration, we celebrate Jesus’ ascension, where Jesus leaves the earth again, ascending to the Father.

Upon his departure of course, we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit to be our comforter.  But regardless, Jesus ascends and leaves this earth.

That departure can leave us feeling alone.  Whether it’s struggling through tomorrow’s celebration of death, feeling anxious as the disciples did after the Ascension, or whether it’s just a dark time in our own lives, here’s the brilliance of Maundy Thursday. Tonight we get a glimpse of the tools to help us through all of that difficult darkness.

That last night, Christ looked the disciples in the eyes, and told them they were to love each other. To think of him. To serve each other. During the dark hard times of the next few days and any dark time beyond, we are to love each other. Comfort each other.  Share food with each other. Serve each other. Just like the disciples, in community we are less alone.

Whether it is the darkness of Good Friday, or beyond, we have the light, and we are commanded to share that love in real tangible uninvited messy ways.   Christ has shown us the way.

Christ remains with us. God is in you, and by sharing your love, by serving, feeding and healing, you share God’s love.
Just as I have washed your feet, so you should wash each other’s feet.
Amen.

New Furniture

Lent 3B

March 8, 2015

Did you know that in the city of Woodinville, Washington, a suburban community north of Seattle - with wineries, breweries, and transit park & rides, it is not legal to ride your horse down main street, or to tie it up outside a business. I worked in Woodinville, and never ever did this seem like a remote possibility, that someone would ride her horse to and through the fast food drive through.  

Laws in general, and that law in particular tell us two things.  First, they tell us something of the values or principles of the law-giver.  In the case of Woodinville, that law acknowledged that Woodinville was a horse-loving community, many people rode horses around the area for leisure and work, and that downtown was changing, with parking meters replacing the hitching posts. Second, with that value clear in the mind of the law-giver, laws are established that set the boundaries to define what is acceptable and what is not acceptable, given this set of values and principles.  Within a given set of values, laws or rules help define what behaviors or actions would constitute fair play, and conversely what would be out of bounds.  
  
Today in the Old Testament reading, we hear the Ten Commandments.  These rules from God also tell us two things. They tell us something about the values and principles of the law giver. God had made a covenant with the people of Israel, entered into relationship with the people values to deliver save, guide, protect, and love them.  Given the values or principles, the specific rules were set to identify behavior that’s fair play, and that which is out of bounds.    
Like horses in downtown Woodinvlle, some of these commandments are seemingly simpler to follow – thou shalt not murder.  But rather than thinking of that commandment as easier than the others, think about it in terms of what has been defined as in play or out of bounds.  The circle defining what is in bounds, as it relates to murder, is really big.  Big enough that I’m unlikely to ever come close to that boundary. My every day behavior will not put me in a place where I need to think about crossing that line.  Not so with some of the other commandments.  

We repeat the Decalogue every week in Lent, and heard them today in the Old Testament reading because during Lent, we are asked – or more appropriately, we get to take the opportunity to think about our lives, and to be mindful about our covenant with God – how we’re asked to live and the choices we make, when given that choice. If we live in a way that is in-bounds for all of these commandments, we are closest to living a simple life in relationship with God, consistent with the values undergirding those laws. And where our actions are out of bounds or inconsistent with a commandment? Those are the areas where we are further from living in relationship as God intended. 

Compared to the murder commandment, I feel there are more commandments where that boundary of what’s fair play and out of bounds is much tighter in, and I feel closer to that line.  I see those boundaries, and I make choices daily, either consistent with fair play, or not.  

Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.

Keep the Sabbath holy.

There are two, though that are chronically and consistently breached, that are so entrenched in our culture, we don’t even see them.  

The first is that one about coveting. Our whole capitalistic society is based on coveting. It may not feel like coveting, but when we want to possess something we don’t own, that’s coveting. Coveting our neighbor’s car. Their yard.  Their wealth.  Their golf clubs.  Their good luck.

There is a whole industry designed to capitalize on those things we covet, and there’s a whole science to it. If you buy this car, you’ll have a great night on the town.  Use this shampoo and heads will turn. I’m not knocking marketing, but as the consumers who are marketed to, we need to be aware of the relationship between sales and coveting. 

For example, I want new patio furniture.  I want new furniture because the store I like has a new set. To be clear, I have plenty of seating. It’s doesn’t all match and it isn’t as pretty as the magazine or the pictures I’ve seen on Pinterest.  Sure, I could justify my NEED for new furniture, but really, I just want it. 

We covet all sorts of things, simply because what we have isn’t sufficient.  Patio furniture, accessories for a bike or car, new jewelry. And not just things. W covet other people’s jobs.  Their free time.  Their wealth.  This isn’t the same as valuing something lovely and buying it.  It’s the accompanying sense of urgency that indicates trouble.  

One of the big problems with coveting is that when we covet, we lose sight of the amazingness of what we actually have. We stop thinking about or even seeing the abundance freely given to us. Instead, we think about what we don’t have. Coveting can even make us resentful of what we have. I’m upset with my world, because his is so much better. I’m angry because she got a promotion and..  you get the idea.  

The other related and disregarded commandment relates to idol-making.  An idol is something we worship.  And God simply says don’t have any other idols but God.  

As I look around my life and my country, I see idols of wealth, power, prestige. In my community also see idols of radicalism, protest and autonomy. These idols are worshipped and adored. Great effort is required to adore an idol, to maintain a relationship with an idol.  What happens it that people spend more time worshiping and adoring their new idol, than they spend with God.  
In junior high, I wanted rainbow suspenders because “cool” had become my idol, and the girl who was cool, had some. I coveted her suspenders, because she was cool.  But, in fact, that was a passing phase – hardly worthy of adoration.  In fact, there is nothing about “cool” that has any permanence or substance. If there was, I’d still be sporting those suspenders. No, they were cool and I idolized them because of cultural norms at the time. But real goodness, things really worthy of reverence and adoration like God, doesn’t change, and doesn’t go out of style. God is as worthy of being adored now, as 1000 or 2000 or 3000 years ago. Everything other than God is temporary.  Tastes, values, wealth, prestige, radicalism, suspenders. Even our idol of feminine beauty. During the renaissance, women who were seen as beautiful would now be considered a “plus” size and would never be on the cover of beauty magazines.  

Why covet or idolize something fleeting like that?  

We make idols out of things that are not God because we are not satisfied with what we have in God. What we have in God is not sufficient.

Likewise, coveting is what happens when we are not satisfied with what we have on earth. When what we have on earth is not sufficient.

Fast forward to the Gospel reading.  Today we hear the somewhat disturbing story about Jesus overturning the tables in the temple. This account of this story in the Gospel of John differs from the parallel stories in Matthew, Mark and Luke.  In those, the authors state that the market place outside the temple is full of robbers and thieves. Here, today’s author makes no such claim. So it’s not the inherent badness that torques Jesus off. Jesus is upset because they’ve made the Temple into a market place.

What’s so wrong with that?  Why the angry, uncomfortable outburst from Jesus?  
I think, in part, it’s tied up with coveting and idolization. The animal and money sacrifices may have started as a means to an end. The sacrifices, and the temple itself, may have originally been sacramental – an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Signs, by their nature are symbols of something else, and are not inherently wrong.  

For example, a speed limit sign is important not because it’s rectangle with numbers on it.  It’s important because of what we know it symbolizes.  But sometimes signs stop meaning what they originally meant.  Their meaning changes over time, and since it’s only a symbol, it’s a tricky thing to connect the symbol back to what it once meant. Thinking of the speed limit sign, when was the last time you drove to Portland, and everyone had the same understanding about what the posted speed limit sign meant?  When symbols lose their original meaning, something must be done to align meaning and symbol again, or the sign must be discarded. It’s no longer pointing to what it originally meant.   

In the Gospel story, the money changers and the merchants were originally there to help worshippers with a sacramental sacrifice at a sacramental place. But at some point, everyone stopped understanding the sacramental outward sign in the same way.  At some point, some people began thinking that what mattered wasn’t the inward and spiritual grace.  It wasn’t about connecting with God. 

The sacrifice, and the Temple itself wasn’t a means to an end. It had become the end.  People had slowly but surely, started coveting the things.  They coveted the beautiful doves. They replaced God with an Idol for God, an Idol that wasn’t God. They worshipped the sacrifice. They worshipped the Temple.           

Coveting and idol making seem like no big deal, compared with murder.  But it’s because of their seeming irrelevant nature that I believe coveting and idol-making are so dangerous.  CS Lewis’ book, The Screwtape Letters, is a great book written from the perspective of the devil himself, who’s trying to train his nephew, giving him hints about how to thwart the enemy – God.  In the book, he explains to his nephew the way to shepherd people to hell.  He explains that “Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one--the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.” 

This explains, in part, why Jesus’ response was so quick, certain and disruptive.  The people in the temple were traveling down that gentle road without any understanding or signposts. Jesus needed to make sure they knew they had taken a wrong turn when they truly believed there was no problem.  They were acting in a way that was taking them further and further out of bounds.   

Part of our Lenten journey is to take stock of our relationship with God. These commandments help provide boundaries for what’s fair play and what’s out of bounds, or as CS Lewis more elegantly said, to provide signposts.  Those places where we’ve seen the signpost and ignored them – those are places where our actions or our inactions get in the way of our relationship with God.  

In addition to healthy self-reflection, we need to pray, and invite Jesus into our souls during Lent. Because when we cannot or will not see what we’re doing, when we’re willing to see the signpost and keep on going, if invited, Jesus will come and overturn the tables in our lives.  

He will point out where we’ve made an idol of something, even those things that started as a sacrament. Where our coveting is creating ingratitude.  Jesus will disrupt the calm and peace we have built for ourselves on our oblivious trip on the wrong road. 

Why have you made my father’s house a marketplace?

Why are you idolizing wealth? 

Why covet their car, the job, the wealth?  Why covet anything?

Why are you not loving your neighbors?

Why?

The point of this reflection isn’t to just make us feel bad about things.  No one needs that. But it is good to look at the commandments as sign posts of a good, full grateful and uncomplicated relationship with God. We need to find those places where we either blatantly disregard God’s desire for us, or where our well intentioned efforts are not enhancing our relationship with God but detracting from it. Where we care more about the Temple or the church building than with a relationship with God. We need to strip away the things that over time have gotten between us and God.  That’s Lent.

Back to my patio. Instead of coveting other furniture, or making an idol of cool, I would be better served and certainly more content to see it and realize that It’s awesome, full of mixed up half-broken furniture. In fact, I should see that haphazard furniture as a beautiful blessing, and use it for holy things. I need to see it as a place where holy things can, and do happen. Many great evenings with family and friends. Quiet time with God. The furniture is absolutely sufficient, because in fact, the furniture doesn’t really matter. The things that really matter, the holy things, won’t be any improved with coveting better furniture.  Invite Jesus to help you see where you need some disruption and rerouting, to get on the right road. 

What we already have on earth is good and sufficient. What we have with God is more than enough.   

We need nothing else. 
Amen.

24

Epiphany 5B

February 8, 2015

There used to be a TV show on, called 24 with Kiefer Sutherland.  The show followed the main character for 24 hours in his life.  Every show, or day, was different, otherwise it would have been a very boring eight seasons. But each day included the same elements. Bauer is faced with a challenge. He spends the next 23 hours figuring out what he needs to do to address the problem, while new roadblocks are thrown up throughout the day. At some point, he rests. 

Today, we get a view into what could be considered the 24 pilot episode, or maybe where the original idea came from.  Today we hear about 24, a day in the life of Jesus. And while the day we hear about may not be like every other day in Jesus’ life, it contains the key elements into his life.  As self-professed followers of Jesus, it gives us a road map of what we are to do in our life, in each 24 hour day.  

A quick recap of the day we hear about this morning.  

He healed and lifted up the disciples’ mother-in-law.  

At night, the whole town comes.  He cured many.

In the morning, he went off to pray in a deserted place.  

Later he moves on and proclaims the good news somewhere else.

Let’s break that down a little.  

The first part we hear is that Jesus enters the house of Simon and Andrew. Their mother-in-law was sick with a fever. In those pre-antibiotic days, a fever was a serious and deadly matter. The Gospel says that Jesus lifted her up.  The interesting thing about this is that the word that’s originally used is the same word as is used to describe Jesus’ resurrection. He took her hand, and raised her up. 


After he raises up the mother in law, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed. And by all, I think they mean all.  It says that the whole city was gathered at his door. It’s clear that there, at this house, in the dark, Jesus was pressed into further service and a lot of it. He cures many of them.  Finally, he retires.

When he got up, he went off to pray because he needed to be recharged, to be reconnected to God.  Even he, God incarnate, needed to actively connect with God.  Jesus rested first, and then rose in the dark to go off to pray.  We too need to rest. Then we need to carve out time to go off and pray.  To reconnect with God and recharge.

[wait]

We hear that the disciples hunted him down, exclaiming that “everyone is searching for you”.  His response?  He said they need to move on to the next town, so he can proclaim the good news there.  Because that is what he came to do.   

So in his 24 hours, he heals someone in private and raises her up.  He heals hordes of others after word spreads.  He goes off to pray in an isolated and dark place.  He moves on, presumably to do the same thing, again and again and again.  

As followers of Jesus, this is what we need to do too.  Two weeks from today, we’ll celebrate the first Sunday of Lent.  Look at what Jesus did in his 24 hours and think about yourself. What of these traits should you do more of?  What should you start?  Lent is a good time to try something out like that.  More than giving up meat or chocolate.  Do something modeling Jesus’ 24 hour busy day, because it will reconnect you with God.  What you pick is up to you. Or maybe you share with someone else and journey through Lent together.  With Jesus as our guide, here are some options.

First we need to heal and raise up others.  Maybe we can’t resurrect them in exactly the same way. But we absolutely can, as our translation says, take someone by the hand and lift them up.  That’s personal.  That’s touching someone.  And helping them in a very intimate way.  

When you’re finished with what you intended to do, with extending your hand to help someone else, more need likely be made apparent. Help more. Heal some of the crowds from the city that come to your door at the end of your long day. This requires fortitude, I think.  It’s one thing to help someone when you choose. It feels good for us, the helper.  And when we’re done with what we intended, we’re done. We’ve satiated that need in us to help. And yet, more need appears. It’s at that moment, when I’m ready to hang up my apron, or have answered the most contentious caller’s question, that I’m pressed into service again. And that second time, after I’ve done what I set out to do, it isn’t nearly as rewarding for me.  But the need remains.  So  serve more. Heal more.  Love more. It’s inconvenient, and unscheduled and trying.  

And necessary.

When you’ve offered a helping hand, helped more and are spent, find time to pray more.  Despite the mounting need, pray. Regularly.  Daily.   

And at some point, move on and repeat the cycle.  Heal. Heal more.  Pray.  Move on. 

As 21st century overly-busy, overly self-centered folks I can tell you that I have a little trouble with two of these four things Jesus did.  If you know me, or are like me at all, this may resonate with you too. First, go off and pray.  When there’s that much to do?  However can they live without me?  

Second, move on.  When there’s that much to do?  However can they live without me?  

Regarding prayer, I know that I need to actively schedule time in my day – every day – to pray and be simply in the presence of God.  Without a plan, that intention of mine slips away, with all of the demands of the day beckoning.  During Lent, I’m going to pray Morning Prayer every weekday morning. I’ve prayed the Daily Office before, and it’s precisely the routine and same-ness that gives my soul rest. Of the things Jesus did in his 24 hours, this is the one I need more of now. 

Finally, what are we to make of Jesus simply moving on to another town?  Isn’t there more to be done here, with this project?  With this effort? With this need?  We have a key why the moving on strategy works with the mother-in-law’s story. After Jesus touches her, heals her and raises her up,  we hear that her response was that she served the disciples that evening.

 Many criticize this story as an indication of the anti-feminist sentiments of the time. While they certainly were paternalistic times, I think it’s misguided to be offended by her service.  Going back to the original language, the word that’s used to describe her service is diakonia. It’s the word that describes how the angels served Jesus.  It is a holy service, done in response to God’s healing touch and grace in our lives.  It’s not drudgery. It’s the same service we are all called to, when we seek and serve Christ in all people, in response to God’s grace and love.  It is also the source of the word deacon.   

In response to the presence of God’s hand lifting us up, we are called to serve. Her service was as the woman of the house, and to serve the guests.  And so she served. It’s not a demeaning service, any more than making coffee for the homeless, or feeding the prostitute, or picking up kids from sports. It is holy service. It’s what our response is supposed to be. We respond with service. We extend God’s helping hand to another in service.  

Jesus can move on and preach the good news, heal people, heal some more and move on again, because he’s touched us. It’s our turn to respond in diakonia, in holy service to others.  

Amen.

Speak, for Your Servant is Listening - Epiphany 2B

January, 18, 2015

Today we celebrate the second Sunday after Epiphany. An Epiphany is a visible manifestation of a hidden divinity, and today we hear a few great Epiphany stories that have all the right parts. Plot twists, surprises, and great supporting actors. 

First we hear a story about Samuel and Eli. A little background first. Samuel’s mother, Hannah, was in her old age and prayed for a child. After she conceived, she committed her child to God. So as a small child, Samuel was handed over to the temple and served the Lord under Eli’s watchful eye. Even steeped in the temple though, the story says that Samuel did yet not know the Lord. This is an interesting phrase, not knowing the Lord, and is reserved for some pretty sketchy characters. Pharaoh did not know the Lord. So we can assume Samuel, despite living in the temple, was distanced from God. But the story teller gives a little foreshadowing of what’s to come, by specifying that Samuel did not know the Lord, YET. 

So we have this boy, raised in the temple who didn’t yet know the Lord. The story also tells us that was a time when there were few visions in Israel – God did not make many appearances. So at a time when there were few visions, God calls out to Samuel, this distanced boy who had not heard the word of God. 

Samuel, thinking it must be Eli, checks in with Eli. 

Yes, Eli? 

Eli responds, I didn’t say anything. 

Again, God calls and Samuel goes to Eli. I didn’t call you. 

The third time God calls Samuel and Samuel bothers Eli, Eli figures out that it might be God calling and sends the boy to bed, suggesting that the next time he hears God, Samuel should respond, “Speak, for your servant is listening”. And so he does. And God calls a fourth time, the Lord stands before Samuel and this time, a more receptive Samuel responds. God gives Samuel some tough news about Eli and his family. God basically tells Samuel that Eli’s being fired because of the bad behavior of Eli’s sons and Eli’s non-response. Eli’s house will be punished forever. 

We are told that Samuel laid in his bed until morning, and was afraid to say anything to Eli. In the morning though, Eli tells him he should share what God said, and so reluctantly, Samuel tells of God’s message. 

Then we move to Gospel story of Nathaniel, Philip and Jesus. Jesus sees Philip and tells Philip to “Follow me”. Not only does Philip follow Jesus, but he goes and gets his buddy Nathaniel. Philip tells Nathaniel, “We have found the one Moses spoke about.” Nathaniel is duly skeptical, responding “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” Philip says “Come and See”. 

So we have three characters, each who has their own Epiphany, a new understanding or manifestation of divinity. They each are the main characters of their story, but they are reliant on other people to connect them to God, others who play supporting roles in their story.

First we have Samuel. Not only does God call Samuel, but God appeared before Samuel. Samuel didn’t see, didn’t recognize, didn’t respond to God. On one hand, it’s hard to imagine that he didn’t recognize God. But on the other hand, how could he? He didn’t yet know the Lord. God is so much bigger, so much more than we can imagine, God might be hard to recognize or comprehend, even if God was standing right in front of you. 

The first story with the actor and supporting actor is Philip and Jesus. We’ve got no story of Philip being a religious man or having any deep faith prior to his interaction with Jesus. And yet, Jesus, fully human and fully divine, calls Philip, and Philip responds immediately and affirmatively. Philip needed the living Jesus for his Epiphany. 

Lest you think that we’re all out of luck, without the person of Jesus Christ tapping us on the shoulder, think of Samuel and then Nathaniel. 

After being awoken by Samuel three times, it is Eli who understands that it is God calling Samuel, and tells Samuel to be receptive and responsive to God’s call. It is Eli who allows Samuel to understand and see. And without Eli, Samuel might have been awoken another 30 or 300 times without knowing it was God. Eli, the old man whose eyes had grown dim, permitted the boy who’d been raised in the temple see God, to have his epiphany. 

Finally we have Nathaniel. Nathaniel is sitting under a fig tree, minding his own business. After Jesus calls Philip, Philip calls Nathaniel. Come and see. Come experience the Holy. There must have been something incredibly special about Jesus, that he beckoned Philip, who came. And carried by Jesus’ power, Philip beckons Nathaniel, who recognizes Jesus as the Son of God. Because of Philip, Nathaniel follows Jesus. Without Philip, Nathaniel might still be sitting under the fig tree. 

So what can we learn about ourselves or our Epiphanies, from these stories and supporting actors? 

First of all, epiphanies aren’t limited to the right people, to the more holy. Samuel was living in the Temple but didn’t know God. And yet it’s to Samuel that God appears. 

Samuel’s encounter with God put him in an uncomfortable spot. He had to share bad news with Eli, who’d raised him. And when God appeared before him, Samuel didn’t yet know the Lord. He wasn’t a priest, wasn’t a religious insider. And yet, that’s who God selected. If you think you aren’t worthy of an interaction with God, think again. We are all worthy, and as baptized Christians, we already are in relationship with God, with an indissoluble bond. We need to get over our concepts of being unworthy or that God wouldn’t talk to me. When we do that, we are behaving like Samuel at the beginning of the story, and we risk being blind to what’s before us. Instead, we need to say, Speak, for you servant is listening. 

Second, after you say that, gird your loins, because Epiphanies often result in discomfort, risk and danger. Think about the wise men, and the risk they took worshiping a new king. Samuel was asked to tell Eli that he and his family would be punished because of Eli’s sons. Between the time he heard God’s message and when he spoke with Eli in the next morning, I can imagine Samuel WISHING he hadn’t uttered those words. Speak, for your servant is listening. 

And there’s Philip. After following Jesus, he immediately asks his friend to follow too, with little explanation. Come and see. And after he becomes a disciple of Jesus, it is Philip who is asked to feed the 5000. And tradition holds that Philip and Nathaniel were crucified upside down. We are not at risk for crucifixion, but we are all asked to serve Christ in all people. To proclaim by word and example the good news of Christ. 

Finally, epiphanies frequently require someone else. We all need Jesus, fully human, to help us understand the immensity of God and to have our epiphanies or new understandings of the holy. Sometimes you’ll need an Eli or Philip to help you see God or point out God in your midst. Sometimes you’ll need someone else to say, “Come and see”. 

And the opposite is also true. You need to be the Eli or Philip to someone else. Point out God in their midst. Come and see. 

Friday night, four of us from Eugene/Springfield went to Portland to Rahab’s Sisters, the ministry of the Diocese that provides meals and compassionate hospitality to vulnerable women. We served about 45 women in a pretty small space, and it was an exhausting, inspiring and exhilarating evening. I was thinking about epiphanies, about Samuel and Eli, and Nathaniel and Philip during the chaotic meal. 

I sat down and talked to Toni, a 45 year old woman. She’d previously lived in Texas with her husband. Somewhere along the way, her husband lost his job and she lost hers. They lost their home and burned through their savings. They returned to her home town of Portland, and things got worse. She and her husband struggled to survive on the streets of Portland. The allure of money and freedom from pain that accompanies the drug culture were too much. Earlier this week, her husband was lodged in jail, leaving her homeless and alone. 

She had never been to this dinner, but was in the neighborhood because of a needle exchange van, parked outside the church. She saw Windy her friend, who invited her in for a meal. Come and See. 

By the time I saw her, she had finished her meal and was sitting, sad and grateful. She was astonished at the horrible and relatively fast turn her life took. She was grateful for the meal, the peace, the friends she was making. 

I’d spent the whole evening looking at all of the ladies, feeling that it was good work to be sitting with them. But it wasn’t until I talked to Toni that I saw Christ standing before me. I saw Christ in each of the ladies. Last night, I was Samuel, and Toni was my Eli. She helped me see God. 

All I can say now is, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

Amen.